


The Death of Duty

by MrsJohnReese



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsJohnReese/pseuds/MrsJohnReese
Summary: Elyana Baratheon had always been more stag than lion, though she did not truly grasp the reason why. But when her father journeys north to proclaim Eddard Stark the Hand of the King, Elyana will find more than just wisps of the truth at journey's end. And her discoveries will throw her, head-first, into the Game of Thrones to either win or die as the gods see fit.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Going North

"Your mother will not approve of this, my lady," Ser Leyton cautioned, knowing full well that the lady would not heed his advice no matter how hard he tried to persuade her against her current course of action, "At least permit me to assemble some others to accompany us—"

"The longer we wait for said men to accompany us, Leyton, the more likely we are to be stopped."

"I believe that you already know that to be my intent, princess."

"Perhaps you should change your intent, then," Elyana quipped, sending her would be protector a smile, and tossing dark brown locks over her shoulder before returning her attention to saddling her horse, "We are staying on the King's Road. What could possibly happen?"

"Many things, princess. You know that as well as I."

"Then I suppose it is fitting you are such a skilled hand with a blade."

"There are others that are far more skilled than I," Ser Leyton protested, greying brows drawn together in concern while his charge appeared heedless of anything save for the animal standing in front of her as impatient to set out and leave the rest of the travelling party behind them as the princess appeared to be herself, "Your uncle, for one."

"If you inform my uncle of this, I shall never speak to you again, Ser Leyton. You would do well to remember that."

Unbidden, a smile rose to the aging knight's lips as he watched Elyana finish readying her mount for the apparent journey ahead of them, the familiar streak of stubbornness that he had witnessed so often in her own father growing up provoking good humor despite the inherent consequences that her current actions may inspire. In truth, he adored the girl, though he did his best to avoid allowing that sentiment to persuade him to allow her free reign over all things in her young life.

Of course, the present situation included, he had never entirely perfected the art of denying her something that allowed her a taste of true freedom, even if it meant he faced the wrath of her mother as a result.

"I do not believe you have it in you to do that, in truth, my dear."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"You know as well as I that any of the others your mother would place about you would never allow you to even consider that which you are about to do, now."

Pursing her lips in response to the remark that she knew very well to be true, Elyana chose to focus her attention upon climbing into the saddle instead, the soft whicker of encouragement that the white stallion gave her prompting her to lean down to pat the animal on the neck before straightening once more so that she might glance outward at the road ahead. Already, she could almost hear her mother's criticism of her actions, the very idea of choosing a journey on horseback over the comfort and propriety of the wheelhouse preposterous to a woman who valued comfort and wealth above all else. But even the prospect of spending the duration of their afternoon meal listening to exactly why she ought to set aside her own selfish desires to spend time as a proper lady with her own family, instead, was not enough to force her to reconsider, a soft smile playing at the edges of her mouth as she glanced back to ensure Leyton was already seated atop his own mount before setting off at a gallop towards the front of the column, and the King's Road beyond.

She knew the man well enough by now that she did not have to continue to cast glances over her shoulder along the way to realize he still followed closely behind…

…

Some hours later, after having achieved a good bit of distance between themselves, and the traveling party, and consequently finding themselves forced to wait upon their arrival, Elyana suppressed a sigh as she caught sight of her mother exiting the wheelhouse, her expression sour, to say the least. Of course, she found herself momentarily distracted by the reality of Tommen racing towards her as fast as his legs could carry him, until he could throw his arms around her waist and squeeze her as tightly as he could, his tiny body shaking with laughter as she instinctively ruffled his hair as she always did whenever they reunited after even the briefest of times apart. But even the enthusiasm inherent in his greeting could not protect her from the Queen's approach, her lips drawing into a thin line as soon as her mother's voice reached her ears.

"I see you went riding again, today—"

"It seemed a lovely day for it, Mother."

"Would it be as lovely for you, I wonder, if your lone guard failed to defend you from an attack, and you lost your life as a result?"

"Ser Leyton is perfectly capable of—"

"Of giving in to your every whim? I can see that quite clearly for myself," Cersei snapped, taking a seat at the head of the small table that had been rather hastily erected in the wake of the King's decision to halt for a meal with Myrcella at her side, though her glittering green eyes never stopped in their ceaseless examination of the windswept appearance her eldest was currently presenting, "He is very similar to your father in that regard."

"I can assure you, Mother, I was more than sufficiently protected. Unless of course I am to fear an attack from a stray raven."

Though she was well aware of the slight narrowing of her mother's eyes in response to her reply, Elyana still managed to possess the fortitude of allowing her gaze to stray back to where Ser Leyton now stood a mere few feet away, his attention appearing to be riveted upon his boots so that he might mask an errant smile and a laugh. Of course, she knew that it would likely be more prudent to have simply remained silent, or to offer a contrite apology instead of deliberately taunting the Queen's apparent fears so boldly. But something in the way in which her mother had spent almost the entirety of this particular journey finding some reason or another to belittle the man that she more often than not regarded as a second father spurred her rash words and forced her to push caution aside, no matter how often she might remind herself that a large part of the motivation behind Cersei's protectiveness towards her children resided in the heartbreak she had experienced after losing her first.

A small, black-haired boy that had come into the world as part of a set, much the same as the Queen and her brother had years before…

Only one of those children had survived past infancy, though Ser Leyton always told her how he marveled that the little girl had not also succumbed to the fever that stole her twin from the world. To hear him tell the tale, where one would cry, or smile, or laugh, the other was not long to follow. And although she would never get the chance to know her brother, Elyana often wondered if her desire to break free of the restraints that her station often placed about her came more as a result of her own character, or some instinctive desire to fill a void left behind by the twin she could not even remember.

Regardless of her desires, however, Elyana knew when to hope for leniency from her mother, and when to give that hope up as a lost cause. And if there was anything recognizable about the expression that crossed Cersei Lannister's face in that moment, it was that her daughter would be wise to correct her action if she wished to enjoy a peaceful remainder of their journey north.

"I can assure you, Mother, I will be more prudent in future," She began, aware of how both Tommen and Myrcella were eyeing the pair of them warily, despite their young age. In truth, it troubled her to see how fervently devoted they were to every last whim Cersei possessed, despite how even Elyana had to admit that devotion was still preferable to how Joffrey behaved, more often than not. But regardless of her own misgivings and preferences, she knew she should at least attempt to make more of an effort to appease her mother, if for no other reason than to spare both herself, and her siblings some of the consequences of the already mercurial moods that Cersei possessed as a result of their journey north.

Aside from her twin, it seemed the Queen was the only one that was not at least mildly intrigued to see what lay at the end of their trek to Winterfell, and more often than not her interactions with even her own children showed that it was the very last place on earth she wanted to be.

As if she sensed the turn of her daughter's thoughts, Cersei regarded her for only a moment more in silence while she nursed a sip of wine, her expression unreadable despite how Elyana thought she knew the exact nature of what orders she was soon to receive. It was true, the two of them were often at odds, more specifically regarding the differing opinions they appeared to possess regarding proper behavior befitting a lady, and a princess no less. But Cersei was still her mother—and no matter how she might chafe under the weight of the restrictions placed upon her at times, Elyana was still not too proud to admit that on occasion, it did her more good to see her mother smile than it ever would to rebel against her wishes.

"You will ride with us in the wheelhouse this afternoon," Cersei began, replacing her glass of wine upon the small table, and glancing at all of her children in turn for a moment, before going on, "No matter what your father may choose to allow, I will not have you arriving in Winterfell as disheveled as a common field hand."

A simple nod was all Elyana gave as her reply, not trusting that she would be able to make any sort of verbal reply without souring her mother's mood still further. And although she was not so blind as to believe that her simple acquiescence would remove her mother's suspicion entirely, Elyana was somewhat pleased that it still seemed capable of earning her a reprieve from the stern nature of Cersei's expression, and simultaneously allowed the nature of their conversation to veer to the journey ahead, instead.

Whether her mother truly wished to partake in the arrival at Winterfell or not, she did not seem capable of discouraging the excited musings of her two younger children over what they might find when they arrived…

…


	2. The Arrival

"Do you think they will like us?" Myrcella inquired, startling Elyana from her momentary daze, and forcing the older girl to avert her gaze from its former position upon the passing scenery so that she might glance at her younger sister, instead, while forming a reply.

"Why would they not? Father is their King."

"But that has nothing to do with us," The little princess persisted, her determination provoking a smile to her older sister's lips as Elyana simultaneously reached for her hand to thread their fingers together with growing ease, "Well it doesn't."

"It has exactly everything to do with us, Myrcella. And besides, Father and Lord Eddard are as good as brothers. I see no reason to fret when it is entirely likely that his children will be every bit as wonderful to know."

"You truly think so?"

"I do," Elyana confirmed, offering her younger sister a smile, and giving her hand that she still held within her own a gentle squeeze in hopes of providing reassurance, "I refuse to believe the people who dwell in the North are as unfriendly as the terrain appears to be at times."

"Your optimism is charming, Elyana. Do try your best not to allow it to cloud your judgement."

Frowning at the barely laced venom in her mother's words, Elyana did her best to avoid allowing the barb's sudden impact on her mood show itself too plainly upon her face, if for no other reason than to spare her sister, and Tommen as well, any knowledge of her true feelings. They were merely children, after all, far more preoccupied with the prospect of this journey as a grand new adventure than their mother truly appeared comfortable with. And although she was more than a little disappointed that her own revelry in their journey had been cut short, Elyana was not about to allow her younger siblings to share in her displeasure, a tight smile forming at her lips as she turned from Myrcella, and faced her mother, instead.

"Is my ability to judge this place, and our hosts for myself truly that suspect, Mother?"

"Reexamine your previous assertion, and perhaps you will know my answer already," Cersei replied, her golden hair swaying just a bit as she tilted her head to the side as though examining her eldest child for the very first time, "The North is not a place we will remain for long."

"But is it not a place we might enjoy while we can?"

"I very much doubt that. You, of course, are free to dream as long as it lasts."

"Well I, for one, hope it lasts very long, indeed," Elyana began, aware of the flash of ire in her mother's green eyes, and yet choosing to refuse to allow it to daunt her as she turned back to her sister, and placed a gentle hand upon her back, "Myrcella, shall I help you with your hair before we arrive?"

"That is what handmaidens are for, Elyana, you know that."

"Oh, but Mother, can she? Elyana always does so much better!" Myrcella put in, turning her gaze towards the Queen, and adopting what her older sister could not help but describe as the most convincing expression of utter desperation she had ever seen, "Please, Mother—I promise I won't tell anyone it was her who did it!"

Not seeming to have the patience to deal with her youngest daughter's wheedling, the Queen simply waved a hand by way of granting permission, turning her gaze from her daughters and turning to run a hand across her son's head, instead. Soon, she was murmuring quietly to him, thus granting Elyana the respite needed to turn back towards Myrcella with a grin apparent upon her features. And, in spite of her mother's apparently sour mood, the eldest of Cersei's children soon found herself pleasantly distracted by the prospect of combing through her younger sister's curls and twining them together in the rather elaborate style that she knew the little princess adored, all thought of what their arrival in Winterfell might bring falling to the wayside as she lost herself to the task at hand.

If nothing else, they could spend the remainder of the journey to Winterfell in an easy silence, rather than filling it with barbed remarks and tension that would only dampen their arrival, and present a poor first impression to their hosts, as well.

…

By the time their travelling party reached the gates of the village on the outskirts of Winterfell, Elyana had succeeded in winding Myrcella's hair into a style that seemed to please the little princess greatly, if the manner in which she continued to allow a small hand to drift up to pat at the locks every so often were any indication. Elyana's own handmaiden, Mariya, had even managed to coerce her dark tresses into some manner of cooperation, as well as assisting her in rearranging the fabric of her skirts so that they would not betray as many wrinkles when they were finally permitted to leave the wheelhouse. Now, all that remained was summoning the patience to wait until her father paid his respects to the Stark family once they were within the protection of the keep, itself—

Something that Elyana found she was failing at with every passing minute.

In truth, she could hardly wait to be free of the confines of the wheelhouse, the air inside seeming to have grown stale even in spite of the slight chill in the breeze that wafted through the partially uncovered window. Her mother's mood, it seemed, had not improved since their earlier discussion, small as it was. And Elyana would have been a liar to pretend that it would not be a relief to feel the wind upon her face in earnest, and in so doing, obtain some space between her, and the weight of her mother's displeasure, as well.

With such thoughts in mind it was impossible for the princess to resist the urge to fidget slightly in her place seated beside the wheelhouse window, her eyes searching the small bit of the surrounding countryside for anything at all to relieve her anxiousness. She was not so worried about their presentation to the Starks in and of itself, her confidence in their welcome steadfast, even though she never knew any of them as more than a feature in some of her father's stories until today. What did concern her was her mother's reaction to the North as a whole, and the family that was prepared to take them in, particularly as it was no secret that Queen Cersei could be colder than the Wall itself, if the mood suited her.

If Elyana's strained interactions with her thus far were any indication, coldness, it seemed, would be the order of the day.

Unbidden, a frown rose to mar her features before she could stop it, her gaze roaming over the awed faces of the village folk that had gathered to witness their arrival as the wheelhouse ambled past. Of course, she had heard the stories. She knew well that her mother was not her father's first choice as a bride, and she knew from what little the Queen let on that the golden-haired daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister would never forgive her husband for such a slight. But reality, and slighted feelings aside, Elyana was still reluctant to accept the fact that her mother's resentment of the North, such as it was, appeared very likely to dampen the duration of their stay in Winterfell.

It was for perhaps that very reason that she found herself utterly determined to do what she could to ensure Tommen and Myrcella did not fall prey to such dour feelings. They were too young to know the truth, and some small part of her half-wished that her mother would never see fit to tell them at all, if for no other reason than to ensure that their opinion of the world, and the prospect of marriage did not turn sour before its time. Both of them were still entirely too preoccupied with their own fancies—Myrcella's being that a dashing young lord would soon ride South to make her his bride, and Tommens' that he would win as many daring battles as his father had before him. And if it were up to Elyana, she would have them go on in those beliefs for as long as they could.

She could still recall the very day in which her own romantic notions had faded, and she vowed to fight with all the strength she possessed to keep her siblings from experiencing that same disheartening sensation for as long as she could.

Startled back to some semblance of awareness by the sudden presence of Myrcella, once again at her side after her own handmaiden and their mother had deemed her appearance fit for their upcoming presentation, Elyana placed a gentle hand upon her sister's shoulder, and followed the younger girl's gaze to the approaching gate that would allow them entry into the keep itself. The little princess was practically trembling in her excitement, her green eyes wide with awe as the wheelhouse ambled between the walls, clearing what must have been an impossibly tight fit. But before either Myrcella, or her elder sister could catch more than a brief glimpse at the family that was to be their host for the duration of this particular expedition, the sound of Cersei's voice was reaching their ears, cool and aloof as she bade them retreat from the window and prepare to disembark.

For now, her determinations and trepidation must be cast aside so that she would remain capable of portraying herself as the well-bred young princess her mother no doubt expected her to be…

…

It occurred to Jon Snow, as he stood beside Theon Greyjoy while the King and his entourage made their painstakingly slow way through the great gate of the keep that he would rather be almost anywhere else than where he was at this very moment. Of course, he was aware of the great honor bestowed upon Winterfell in the wake of King Robert's visit. He would have been a great fool not to be. But no matter how many times he tried to tell himself that there had to be something to find enjoyment in at the prospect of meeting the royal family, it did not seem entirely capable of blinding him to the fact that once again, he was being kept apart from those he felt were his by blood, and all so as to avoid giving offense to their newfound visitors.

He knew the truth of it, though—knew that a bastard given equal place among a lord and his family would serve as nothing more or less than a slap in the face to the royal family, whether his own lord father had been fond of the idea of casting him aside, even for a moment, or not. It was said that King Robert Baratheon had dozens of bastards, all over the seven kingdoms. But Robert was a king, and Eddard Stark just a lord, after all. And Jon knew, somehow, that none of Robert's bastards would be presented along with his own trueborn children…

Apparently, at least in that respect, Queen Cersei and the Lady Catelyn Stark were strangely united.

Doing what he could to avoid allowing the bitterness that such a thought provoked to make itself known in his expression, however, Jon turned his attention toward the gate as the great wheelhouse passed through, directly behind the Kingsguard, and King Robert himself. In spite of his reluctance to show any great amount of interest in the new arrivals, he found himself almost incapable of tearing his eyes away from the man that ruled them, the vast contrast between the image of the man he had built in his mind, and the actual figure that was now struggling to dismount his horse riveting him in place as though he had been frozen to the ground at his feet. Jon had always imagined a great warrior, with a physique that could make even the bravest of men tremble at the thought of facing him. These were the images his lord father's stories provoked—thoughts of a valiant knight, that was truly a force to be reckoned with.

The man he saw now, making his way towards Eddard Stark with a fierce gaze apparent even beneath the thicket of beard upon his face, seemed more like the sort of man one might find passed out in an alley after one too many trips to the wine sink.

Distracted as he was with his own feelings of disappointment, Jon almost missed the silent queue given them by the King's approach, his heart pounding within his chest as he scrambled to kneel along with the rest of those who had gathered to witness this auspicious event first-hand. On his knees, he risked still another glance at the King, only averting his eyes when stormy blue ones took up the task of roaming over the small crowd gathered before him. It would not do to be caught staring, instead of showing King Robert the obedience and respect he deserved. And Jon knew that if he had any hope of maintaining the permission that had been granted him to sit at the feast, he would do well not to appear insolent in the wake of the royal arrival.

With such a thought firmly in his mind, he kept his gaze rooted upon the ground until those around him rose to stand once more, the King's procession down the line of Stark children only holding his attention for a moment before another new arrival caught his eye. Queen Cersei Lannister, unlike her husband, appeared to be the very embodiment of what rumors foretold—the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms, and all the pride to match. Her expression, at least to Jon's eyes, seemed guarded, as though she were unwilling to allow the North to sway her in any way from what she so clearly believed to be beneath her station. And although he could not even begin to comprehend what it was that had her seeming so displeased, Jon found himself watching, transfixed as the Queen extended a hand, and Lord Eddard Stark brushed his lips gently against one of the glittering rings ensconced upon her fingers.

Jon knew, even without looking her way, that Sansa must be watching all of this with the utmost attention, her fascination with absolutely everything that even remotely resembled the old stories of gallant knights and their ladies making it all but certain that she was drinking this in as though parched. A faint smile broke out upon his face in response to the thought, though he did his best to avoid letting it linger for too long. And, as the Queen moved away to stand beside a tall knight that could only be her twin brother, Jon found his gaze once again diverted, this time by the arrival of a tall young woman with dark hair, escorting two children with curly golden hair and the same vibrant green eyes as Queen Cersei, herself.

While Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard bent at the waist to greet the two youngest arrivals after paying their respects to their escort, Jon allowed himself the luxury of observing the dark-haired girl himself, her features strikingly similar to King Robert in spite of the fact that they had been softened by her femininity. She had a fierceness about her, too, though not in such a way that it rendered her harsh and cold like the Queen. And it was that fierceness that had Jon's gaze riveted upon her so earnestly that it took a moment for him to realize her blue eyes had drifted around the gathered crowd and landed upon him.

Jon was so stunned at this sudden realization that he remained frozen, for a moment, still staring, although every instinct his body possessed was screaming at him to look away. As though she was capable of sensing his embarrassment over his seeming inability to move, the young woman offered a gentle smile, the gesture only serving to bewitch him more than he already was. But before he might do anything that would only prove to further his apparent mortification, Jon found that the girl was looking back towards his lord father once more, her smile remaining in place even as she turned to join her mother and uncle in her own right.

Since watching her go was not likely to win him any favors when it came to preserving his dignity, or whatever little bit of it was left after having been caught staring, Jon turned his attention back to the next royal to approach, his eyes narrowing just a bit as he saw almost immediately the haughty way this golden haired boy moved towards his father and the Lady Stark. Unlike his mother, the Queen, he made no secret of his boredom and displeasure, the half-sneer he gave the Lord and Lady Stark never once fooling Jon into thinking it was a smile. And, in spite of himself, Jon found that he was more than ready to dislike this boy on principle, his lips thinning into a line as he watched him move towards his mother and other siblings, with a barely veiled distaste that was all his own.

Not long after, the King bade Lord Eddard take him to the family crypts, and the Queen spirited her brood indoors after Lady Catelyn, likely on the way to the chambers that had been set aside for them for the duration of their stay, Jon rejoined Robb, with Theon at his side, his relief at the entire spectacle being over clearly a feeling that was shared by them, as well. They had all been granted time to themselves, until the feast for the King that was to take place later that evening. And although each of them could practically predict the stern glances from both Lord Eddard, and Ser Rodrik, were they to dirty themselves or mar their clothing in anyway, they knew where they were headed to spend that time until called in for the procession into the dining hall to dine with their guests, without any of them having to say a word.

"Well that was truly something," Robb remarked, clapping both Jon and Theon on the shoulder, and falling into step between them as they trooped toward the training yard as though it were the most instinctive thing in the world to do, "What do you think of them?"

"What did we think of them. As if he doesn't know," Theon quipped, laughing as he bumped his side against Robb's, while his lips curved into a sardonic grin, "The Prince is a right royal prick, just as I said. The sister, though—"

"What, Myrcella?" Robb jested, dodging out of the way as Theon made a retaliatory swipe at his arm, and chuckling as his father's ward rolled his eyes as though he had suddenly found himself surrounded by the dimmest lot in the world.

"No, you dolt. The other one—she was a sight, that is for certain."

"Princess Elyanna."

"Don't pretend you didn't notice her, Robb. I saw your jaw dropping to the ground."

"My jaw did not drop to the ground," Robb protested, returning Theon's shove with one of his own, and grinning openly as he watched the act cause his father's ward to stumble for a few steps before falling back in beside himself, and Jon, "You are hallucinating again, Theon."

"Suit yourself. I know what I saw. But Jon, here, was worse."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes," Theon confirmed, turning his gaze towards Jon, now, and lifting a brow at the answering scowl he received in return, "In fact, I daresay the pretty little princess caught him staring."

"Shut it, Theon."

"No—no, I don't think I want to."

Left with no other choice, Jon lurched after Theon at a dead run, his mouth curving up into a grin despite the fact that a part of his pride still smarted at having been caught not only by the princess, but by Theon as well. Knowing his lord father's ward as well as he did, it was no secret that he would not be likely to hear the end of this—at least not until Theon grew bored with taunting him and chose to find another topic of discourse. And so, he chose to give in to the temptation to best him in the training yard, instead, the sound of his and Theon's laughter, as well as Robb's shouts for them to wait for him echoing around the stone courtyard as they went.

For now, at least, everything was as it had always been between them, with not a one of them aware of the vast change that was about to come their way.

Winter was, after all, well and truly coming, and it would not be long before its cold breath touched them all…

…


	3. Feast For A King

"Didn't you find them handsome?" Princess Myrcella asked, turning her head towards her elder sister in spite of the Septa's huff of protest, and thus forcing the older woman to readjust her own position to finish the task of combing through her fine golden hair, "I thought they were very handsome."

"Who would you be referring to, dear?"

"Robb, of course. And his brothers, of course."

"Oh yes. I found young Rickon to be rather handsome indeed," Elyana teased, thrilled that she could share in her sister's laughter without risk of earning their mother's ire, as the Queen had retired to her own chambers to prepare for the feast as well, "To tell you the honest truth, Myrcella, I do not know about the rest."

"But how can you not? You saw them far better than I."

"And how is that so?"

"Well, you are taller than me," Myrcella supplied, a smile only sweetening her features as she finally permitted herself to turn back towards her original position so that the Septa could finish with the task of brushing her hair, and switch to plaiting it into an intricate knot at the nape of her neck, instead. In the small mirror that had been placed upon the wall behind the trunk holding most of her dresses and nightclothes, she could see her older sister's reflection as she turned this way and that to settle the fabric of her dress about her frame in the most fitting manner she could manage. It was a lovely shade of dark blue, woven here and there with silver thread to give the impression of the moon's rays dancing over dark waters. And to Myrcella's mind, her sister had never looked lovelier than she did in that very moment, her dark hair wound into an elaborate pattern with only a few tendrils escaping to frame her face, while a small coronet of woven silver rested upon her brow.

"You look lovely, Elyana," The little princess enthused, her green eyes shining with adoration as she freed herself from her Septa's ministrations, and rushed over towards her sister to reach for her hand, "You really do."

"Well I certainly do not look half as lovely as you," Elyana countered, using her free hand to run gentle fingers over Myrcella's soft curls, before drawing her sister into a warm embrace, "If you do not garner the attention of every man in the room when we enter the Great Hall, then I will know that all the men of the North are blind."

"You should not speak of such things, Princess. Your sister is too young to be entertaining thoughts of suitors," The Septa cautioned, then, following after Myrcella, so that she might straighten a stray lock of hair that had fallen across Elyana's pale brow, "And your mother would not approve."

"No, I suppose she would not. Forget all that I have said, Myrcella. It was foolish of me."

"But—"

"It was foolish," Elyana repeated, knowing in her heart that the Septa had the right of it, despite the fact that she was reluctant to give up the well-mannered frivolity of her conversation with her young sister in its entirety, "Let us speak of it no more."

Satisfied by her elder charge's words, the Septa retreated from the room not long thereafter, leaving the two sisters to their own devices until they were called down to join the feast. With such temporary freedom, the girls fell to putting the finishing touches on their wardrobes, jewelry adorning necks, wrists and fingers as they engaged in quiet conversation. Sequestered in their shared chambers, with the candlelight casting soft shadows about the room, it would have been so very simple for both of them to forget that they were royalty. That they were not simply engaged in the same sort of camaraderie that any other sisters would partake in whenever they saw fit. But they were, both of them, daughters of the King, and as such would be expected to behave accordingly while among the people of the North…

They did not yet know it, but this journey was only the start of a much larger adventure that neither of them could fully understand.

…

"You look lovely tonight, Princess. You truly are a model for all of these Northern girls to aspire to," The familiar voice began, startling Elyana out of her own internal musings, and bringing her back to the loud clamor of cutlery, plates and conversation that echoed throughout Winterfell's Great Hall. For a moment, she was truly tempted to pretend as though she had not heard that voice at all, though she knew if she did, she would only pay for her disrespect later on. And so, she forced herself to put a smile upon her face before she turned to face her Uncle Jaime forthwith, her blue eyes meeting his green ones as she replied.

"I always find it so difficult to tell if you are mocking me, or being truthful, Uncle Jaime. Perhaps you could enlighten me."

"But that would take all of the fun out of it, don't you think? Giving away the game—"

"For you, maybe. For me, I find it would give a sort of clarity that I might not otherwise achieve," Elyana countered, accepting her uncle's proffered arm with all the grace she could muster in order to rise from her seat at the high table, and allow him to escort her about the room as he saw fit, "Have you grown bored with the festivities already, then?"

"What on earth could give you that idea?"

"You happen to be escorting me about the room as though you truly wish to spend time with me, for one."

"Dearest niece, you wound me," Jaime quipped, a wry smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he placed his free hand atop Elyana's arm, and used the added leverage to steer her about the room, as though they truly were only stretching their legs, "Perhaps I should speak to your mother about it."

"I would much rather you didn't."

"Then perhaps you should be kinder to me. I am, after all, only trying to entertain you."

"Oh, is that what you're calling it?" Elyana queried, allowing her uncle to draw her closer against his side as they passed between two tables, and a serving girl moved the opposite way, "Forgive me. I did not know."

"I think we both know you are smarter than that, Elyana."

"If I agreed to that, Uncle Jaime, you would accuse me of being vain."

"I suppose I ought to be proud that you are not," Jaime acknowledged, glancing at the table immediately before them, and noting with some amusement that it appeared to be the table where the majority of the Stark children were seated, along with the Greyjoy boy, as well, "Though I would hope you may be too proud to force me to visit with the children of our hosts."

"Nonsense, Uncle. It would appear rude to pass them by without a word," Elyana protested, suppressing a smile as she heard her uncle's entirely too predictable groan, and coming to a stop before the table so that she could acknowledge its inhabitants before he could do a thing to dissuade her, "This is a lovely feast. Thank you."

"The honor is ours, Princess," The oldest of the Stark boys—Robb—replied, standing almost immediately, and sending Elyana a smile that had her flushing even in spite of her desire to avoid it, "We are happy to have you here, as our guests."

"And we are happy to be here. Truly," The princess returned, this time not bothering to hide her smile as she glanced at the table as a whole, and realized that one person in particular was already absent, "But where is your sister, Sansa? I had hoped to make her acquaintance."

"She was summoned by the Queen, Princess. I believe she is still in conversation with her, as we speak."

Turning slightly to glance up at the high table, Elyana could see now that Robb had the right of it, her brow furrowing for a moment as she registered Sansa's rapt attention upon her mother's face while she spoke. Truthfully, she wondered over the motivation behind the desire to call Lord Stark's eldest daughter to her side, when she had heard nothing but derisive remarks about the entirety of the North from her mother since their departure from King's Landing. But, regardless of her own misgivings, and the small amount of pity she felt for the lovely young girl that was now utterly at her mother's mercy, Elyana did her best to remain stoic, and act as though absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary, her gaze turning back towards Robb as she realized he was addressing her once more.

"It is my impression that soon we will have dancing. I would be honored if you would agree to share that first dance with me."

"Of course," Elyana agreed, once again smiling at Robb, even in spite of her apprehension over the amusement that was so apparent on the face of the young man seated beside him, as though the prospect of watching the two of them dance was more than it seemed, on the surface. It would have been a lie to pretend that she felt comfortable with such attention resting upon her, though she was conscious enough to realize that showing any outward sign of such discomfort would not earn her any favors either way. And so, instead of retreating in embarrassment, Elyana simply drew herself to her full height beside her uncle, her expression never once wavering as she prepared to part ways from Lord Stark's son and heir until the first dance was upon them and he rejoined her once again.

"I shall look forward to our dance with great anticipation."

As Robb nodded in eager agreement, Elyana allowed her uncle to escort her away from the table, once again drawing close against his side as they moved to the outer edge of the Great Hall, and the space for walking became slightly less than it had been, before. She could sense that he wanted to say something to her, in the wake of her recent interaction with the eldest of the Stark children. And so, she endeavored to beat him to it by making a remark, herself, her blue eyes meeting Jaime's as she came to a stop mid-step, and forced him to do the same.

"I suppose you wish to torment me about my decision, now?"

"Why would you ever suppose that, dear niece?"

"Come now, Uncle Jaime, you have about as much reason to enjoy our time here as Mother."

"On the contrary. Winterfell has been the absolute epitome of hospitality," Jaime argued, sarcasm apparent in his tone in spite of the attempt at sincerity that was displayed upon his face, "The Starks are wonderful hosts."

"You mock them."

"And you do not? What is it you hope to accomplish by dancing with this—boy?"

"I hope to accomplish a successful acceptance of his kindness," Elyana began, attempting to release herself from her uncle's hold and move around him, only to find that she was thwarted in the act by the sudden tightening of his grip upon her arm.

"The Queen will not approve."

"My mother is free to approve, or disapprove as she likes. I will not have it said that I spurned our host's generosity by placing myself above them."

"But you are above them. We are all above them," Jaime persisted, ignoring Elyana's sharp intake of breath, as he felt he was only helping her avoid the ire of her mother by keeping her from playing the part of the fool, "You owe them nothing."

"My father would likely think otherwise, Ser Jaime," Elyana disagreed, this time managing to free her arm from her uncle's grip, and drawing herself to her full height once more in hopes of giving her sudden formal address more weight, "Would you like me to ask him about it, or shall I simply do as I promised, and have that be the end of it?"

Recognizing the thinning of her uncle's mouth as an indication that he was aware she truly did intend to go to her father, if all else failed, and taking his silence as leave to venture back to the high table on her own, Elyana forced herself to manage a nod of acknowledgement for his benefit as a means of a more respectful parting, before she was turning on a heel and lifting her skirts to move back towards the direction from which she had come. Of course, she knew that if he told her mother what she had done, she would likely pay the price once they had all returned to their chambers for the night. But even that knowledge was not enough to persuade her to regret her decision, a faint smile toying with her lips as she contemplated what was to come.

Whether it angered her mother or not, she knew that getting to know the Stark children was precisely what her father would have wanted her to do, and she could rest easy in the knowledge that at least one of her parents would be pleased with her, regardless of the opinions of the other.

…

Jon Snow sat at the table with the other boys, his ears ringing with the sounds of merriment and the clinking of cutlery on plates while his hands clutched his own mug of ale and he stared into its depths. He was not with his brothers and sisters, as the Lady Catelyn had feared the royal family would be offended to dine with a bastard so near at hand. And although that hardly troubled him, as he had been allowed to drink his fill away from the watchful eye of his father, and the Lady Stark as well, now he found that he was feeling far more sullen than he had at the start of the feast, the laughter of his dining companions now grating at his ears, and forcing him to push back from the table before he could say or do anything that would only earn him a swift cuff to the jaw from one of them, and a reprimand from his father after the feast.

Pushing past the men that were gathered in haphazard groups for conversation and jest after their own meals had been completed, Jon made for the doors, doing his best to ignore the music that echoed through the hall as an indication that the dancing had not yet ended. If he were being honest with himself, he had not anticipated such a vehement reaction upon seeing Robb dancing with the Princess Elyana. After all, his half-brother was a far better companion for her than he knew he would ever be. But the reality of the matter was that for the first time since he was a young boy, he found himself unabashedly jealous of Robb's position—his easy mannerisms, and his ability to approach a princess without fear of being rebuked…

If he had been the one to request a dance with King Robert's eldest daughter, he would have been laughed out of the hall, and shamed for the rest of his days.

The thought alone was enough to have him shoving his way through the exit of the Great Hall, and hurrying towards the cold chill of the wind that was wafting in through the doors opposite where he stood. For a moment, he simply remained where he was, allowing the cool breeze to rustle his dark curls, and savoring the sudden lessening in temperature when compared to the stuffy warmth of where the others remained. But it was not long before he was forcing his feet to carry him forward once again, his body bracing against the chill he knew would come as he headed out of doors, and into the darkness of the night instead.

Once his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, broken only by the occasional light of a torch held in sconces about the yard, Jon moved towards the shadows of the practice yard with Ghost following along at his heels. He needed to hit something. Every muscle in his body yearned for the thrill of the fight. And, knowing that he could not hit any one of the boys that sat with him at the table in the Great Hall, he headed for the sparing swords, instead, yanking one away from its companions, and almost immediately beginning to hack away at one of the mannequins stuffed with straw…

It was a poor substitute, truth be told, but it was a means of attempting to tame his sudden ire, and he could only hope that it would work before he did something that he knew he would regret.

Steeled by that knowledge, Jon forced himself to continue striking the straw man, his teeth grinding together as his hits increased in both speed and ferocity. Already, he had started to work up a sweat, his breath forming white clouds in the chillness of the night air. He was so intent upon his task that the idea of anyone coming to find him in his current state was completely out of the question, at least in his mind. And so, when the sound of a soft voice reached his ears, he found himself startled far more than he would have liked, his eyes going wide as he whirled with his sparring sword in-hand, and found himself face to face with the very woman he had ventured outside to avoid.

"Princess," He murmured, his cheeks burning as he bowed at the waist, only to find himself lifting his head in surprise as the sound of warm laughter reached his ears.

"There's no need for all of that. Forgive me. I was wrong to sneak up on you."

"There is nothing to forgive, Princess. But—why—"

"Why am I out in the cold, when your family has thrown quite the lovely feast for my own, inside?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps I simply found that I needed a breath of fresh air," The princess replied, watching as the light from a nearby torch flickered over her companion's features, and marveling at how even in this poor lighting, he still appeared every bit a Stark as the rest of his male kin. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a face that gave the appearance of having been carved from stone, though admittedly not as stern as his father's—Jon Snow was everything Elyana had ever believed the North to be. But something about the way that he watched her carefully, as though wondering if she would change her mood at a moment's notice and suddenly become cruel made her sad, as though she truly desired his good opinion even in spite of the fact that in the face of her own future, it meant very little at all.

"Is it not too cold for you?" Jon asked her then, the expression of surprise that flashed across her features before it was replaced by a cautious sort of intrigue captivating him, even in spite of his desire to remain aloof, "I'm told even Northern summers are too bracing for those more accustomed to the climate of the South."

"Not at all. If I am being truthful, it is more refreshing than anything I have ever known."

"You astonish me, Princess. If I may be so bold."

"You may," Elyana allowed, an enigmatic smile curving her lips as she stepped just a fraction of an inch closer to the young man she addressed, and watched as his eyes widened in apparent surprise, "Though I daresay Ser Meryn is not as enthralled with your climate as I."

"Ser Meryn?"

"Yes. Or did you truly believe that my father would permit me to venture off on my own without a guard?"

"Oh—no. No, I suppose I did not," Jon stammered, wincing as he felt his cheeks redden once more, though for her part the princess did not do a thing to indicate she had even noticed at all. A glance behind her showed the truth of her words, the man hovering just at the outer edge of the yard making no secret of his intolerance of the coolness in the air. And before Jon could stop himself, he felt his lips turning up in a smile of their own, his eyes returning to the princess once again as he returned her earlier jest with an attempt at one of his own.

"You never know which of these straw men may prove to be a danger to your life."

"Indeed," Elyana laughed, her gaze roaming over the 'men' in question, while she did her best to school her expression into one of stern appraisal, as though she truly wished to ascertain their character and merit, "Quite the specimens, here. I confess I only feel safe in your presence."

"Is that so?"

"It is. Do you doubt it?"

"It only seems that a member of the Kingsguard would be better suited at providing protection," Jon countered, almost immediately regretting his words, as they caused a shadow to pass across Elyana's features that had absolutely nothing to do with the torch light flickering around them. Once again, the flush returned to his cheeks, his words sticking in his throat as he tried to come up with the right thing to say to make amends. He ought to have known that someone who appeared as free-spirited as she did would resent the constant presence of a watchman, as though she could not be trusted with her own comings and goings. But he had allowed himself to become too enthralled with her mere presence to keep a more careful watch over his words…

And now, he was forced to watch as whatever freedom had shone in the princess' features faded away, her smile dimming until it had disappeared entirely while she spoke.

"Of course. As such, I suppose it would be fitting for me to return myself to their care," She began, reaching down to lift up her skirts so that she would not trip over them, or dirty them with too much mud as she turned and prepared to depart.

"Good night, Jon Snow. Until we meet again."

Whether Jon would have willed it or not, it seemed his brief respite from the feelings that had tormented him as he left the feast had come to an end.

…


End file.
